A short novel from 1963, Clay Randall was a penname
for the prolific Clifton Adams, who wrote Westerns under his own name as well.
What we have here is a story of, why would a
shantytown in the middle of Indian territory occupied by nothing but riff-raff
go out of their way to build an ornate opera house.
Full of human observations and odd characters. Not a
vital read as this genre is chockful of intriguing reads, but reminds me again
why I keep returning to this literary area.
Solid if not essential.
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